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Monday, January 30, 2012

As a welcome to the current mompetitive, child-is-royalty parenting culture of today, a pregnant friend of mine was recently asked the theme of her baby-girl's nursery. My mommy-to-be buddy was taken aback by this barbed query, but posted on FB a few gems that she might have offered in response.

Needless to say, as a mommyblogger, I was on that s--t like animal activists on a mink coat.

These days a nursery cannot just be a loving haven, culled together out of hand-me-down furniture and heirlooms. NO! It must be worthy of an interior design thesis project. It must be whimsical, instructive, innovative, a conversation starter! The baby's room theme must not just impress, but ASTOUND, other parents, making them fall to their knees and weep at the fierce originality exuded by your family.

Let Mom's New Stage hold your hand and lead you through the wilderness of nursery décor, with the truly amazing, even stupefying, list below:

10 Ridiculously Original Room Themes That Will Wipe the Smile Right Off Those People Who Think They Have an Edge Because They Bought The My Baby Can Read Series.*

Thursday, January 26, 2012

I have spent my life as a dancer and dance teacher. I’ve been to auditions with over 200
people, and I’ve been cut immediately, as well as been hired. I have been in large classes have been
both corrected harshly and asked to show something because I was pretty dang
fierce. I’ve been both
intimidating and intimidated.

And like most women, I know how underhanded and
psychologically cruel our fair sex can be – in and out of the dance world.

So, you would think that with all this experience with
competition (and the desire to go gently into parenting), I’d be fine with this mompetition stuff.

Nope. It gets
me every time.

Maybe it’s because, when I’m with my kids I feel like all
parents should be BFFs. It’s like I’ve swallowed a whole bottle of
extra-strength Kumbaya.

Take my latest.
I was with Aria at Trader Joe’s.
The store was distributing free samples of a green vegetable juice. Aria had 4 one-ounce sample cups and
would have climbed in the fountain had I let her. I talked to the sample lady about
how we used to give Riley the Naked or Odwalla brand of the stuff, which we
nicknamed Froggie Juice.
Containing spinach and broccoli, it seemed like a great way to get
veggies in a one year old, who otherwise might only eat green in the form
of a crayon.

A mom happened by with her son. She had a taste and then looked at the bottle. “Oh! It has so much sugar!” she
tut-tutted.

I immediately became defensive, even though I saw on the
bottle that it did have a lot of sugar, as juice generally does. “You can cut it with half water. That’s what we do with juice.”

“Oh, well, my pediatrician says that juice is not
necessary,” she continued.

Well, I’ll be!
My doctor dun tole me that if it wuzn’t still movin’ or stinkin’ it was
good eatin’!

This is what I wished I’d said.

For some stupid reason I tried to defend my
watered-down-juice drinking kids by going into their very low weight
percentiles and their hatred of milk.
Then it was on. She
countered with her son’s potential ability to drink loads of milk and high
metabolism.

Where at first I had wanted to give her a card for my blog,
at that point, I wanted slap her like I was a pimp and she was a stealin’
ho. But leaving Trader Joe’s in a
squad car would merely have proved her point that she was by far the better
mother.

And, really, that was all it was. A female pissing contest about who, according to all the
literature and expert advice out there, was doing the best by her child. When the mompetition starts, it is hard
to realize that you’re a good mother because you are meeting the confluence of
your child’s needs and wants.
Every child is different.
And every family has to put the EFF THIS stamp on some “rule” at some
point.

So, then what’s all this mompetition stuff all about anyway?
Christina Simon, blogger at Beyond the Brochure in her article “When Moms Verbally Attack Each Other We All Lose” http://www.mamapedia.com/voices/when-moms-verbally-attack-each-other-we-all-lose,
discusses moms on the offense and low mom-esteem. While I do think that attack is too strong a word, I completely
agree with the low mom-esteem.

The low mom-esteem is a result of profound self-doubt. After all, is there any more important
project? Many women have been, or continue to be, highly competitive in their
field of choice. They once were in
control of whole departments, classes of students, themselves as artists and
now they are defeated by getting a small person to eat peas and put away a
puzzle. It’s a mind-boggling
change, one that can sap the will to even try to leave the house.

Furthermore moms sometimes feel as though there is nothing left
for themselves anymore. Their wardrobe, body, career, hobbies, t social life, marriage/partnership – all a shambles.
The kid(s) took everything.

Which means that this kid better be damned AMAZING. Or at least as good as the next mom’s.
The idea that a child the identical age of our own can walk/speak in full
sentences/is potty-trained/knows the alphabet/can count up to a hundred can
make some us panic a little, wondering if our child will be the one child left
behind.

So with a stranger, because she wouldn’t dare do it with a
friend, an insecure mom seizes on something exemplary in her parenting life and
goes right for the carb-loving/TV watching jugular.

Then there is the commiseration (or mommiseration, I might
say) factor. A new mom hasn’t
slept in months. She feels like
the universe is using her as a punching bag. She longs to chat with another mother who knows exactly what
she’s going through.

Unfortunately, she confides in some lady who has no idea
what she’s talking about. Her baby slept six hours a night from the time she
brought him home from the hospital.
It is all poor Sleepy Samantha can do not to weep openly, if not wrap
her hands around this chick’s neck.
She feels horrible, wondering what she is doing wrong, and the other
lady (who is cautiously stepping away from her because of the Hannibal
Lechteresque glint in her eye) feels crazy lucky that she has gotten some
sleep.

Not competition, really, but many parental discussions wind
up with one person feeling cursed and the other feeling extremely blessed, if
not smug. All over something that
pretty much boils down to luck.
It can
feel like if not competition, then insensitivity to the one who hasn’t been so
fortunate.

Also, there’s negative mompetition. Maybe Sleepy Sam finally meets another
who has likewise been barred from the Land of Nod. Except, this woman, instead of feeling that she’s met someone
from the same tribe, says, “Every three hours? Ha! Since birth my baby has
woken up every hour and a half, and stays up for another hour and a half. I’d kill to be as rested as you!”

What is the point of this? What is the honor in being crowned “World’s Tiredest
Mom”? This broad is a freakazoid.

But maybe freakazoid lady is merely the far end of the
spectrum. For so many moms, the
day often feels like a losing battle.
So desperate to win at something, it feels good to be the most martyred,
to win at losing.

Yikes! That was negative.

On that note, I think I should go. I have to put my 20 month
old on the potty, coach her counting in English, Spanish and Mandarin and work
on her pointe.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

We’ve
had a problem with key fob play in our house. Okay, a huge problem. At about a
year of age, Riley pressed the panic button on the fob of our burglar alarm.
When the company called to verify that there was in fact, no emergency, I must
have had my phone out of earshot, or on vibrate or silent, and missed the call.
Several minutes later I heard a siren. Then the doorbell rang. It
was the Chicago Police.

I
tried to assure the officer that all was fine.

That
would not do. "I need to come up," said the officer.

I
stood at the door holding Riley. My mother and J sat in the living room.

"Is
everything okay?" asked the officer, peeking in our apartment.

"Oh,
yes, Officer. My son got hold of the fob and pressed the button."

He
wasn't so convinced. He beckoned me into the hallway.
"Everything's okay? You sure? No domestic abuse or anything?"

I
almost laughed. That guy in there?! He won't hit spiders! "Oh gaaahhsh,
no!" I said, hoping the Fargo-esque drawl would make his question all the more
ludicrous.

I
closed the door feeling somewhat encouraged by the officers persistence in
determining if I living with some kind of white collar Mike Tyson. I
wondered what would have happened if I'd said, "Yes, officer. He's a
lunatic! Please help me!"

We
seemed to have a false alarm monthly. Sometimes it was Riley's fault.
Sometimes in juggling a stroller, a toddler, a baby, groceries and bags,
it was mine. Usually I was able to take the call so as to head off the po-po.
The police did show up once again, when the alarm company didn't get to
the cops soon enough. That time, the female robocop only wanted my
address and passwords. She
wouldn't have cared if my husband practiced UFC fighting with me nightly.

Apparently
we've got a few more false alarms before the security company levies a fine on
us.

Since
the car fob doesn’t involve law enforcement, I'd begun to let 19-month-old Aria
play with it. It beeps and we know the car is locked. Or it doesn’t and the car is
open. It's a little noisy, it might annoy passers-by or our neighbors, but
as all parents say at some time, perhaps using more genteel language,
"f--k it."

Two
mornings ago, I received my car-key-fob comeuppance. When I opened the car door
to take Riley to school, my olfactory senses were assaulted by the smell of a
dirty nicotine addict - the smell of someone who smokes too often and washes his clothes too seldom. No one in our household smokes, nor had we transported
any smoker passengers.

Clearly,
someone had been in our car.

Furthermore,
our uninvited guest had left our glove compartment open, revealing our Music
Together and Raffi CD collection. He had looked through our trunk, but
apparently had no use for baby clothes en route to a second home, or
Anthropologie and Calypso dresses circa 2003. Luckily nothing was
missing, including the car itself.

Nonetheless,
I felt violated, not to mention sick at the odor. My nice new car smell -
gone in one night because of some miscreant. I wanted to throw up.

"Someone's
been in our car. It smells gross in here." I told Riley. I
didn't want to alarm him, but I couldn't be stoic.

"What's
that smell? I don't like that smell," he said.

I
tried to keep calm, as I strapped him in and proceeded to drive him to school.
Staying calm was tough - every breath I drew made me nauseated and enraged.
I was shaking.

After
drop off I went to the local health food store to buy some organic room
freshener. It was 9:15. The place was closed until 9:30. I
began making phone calls. Hubby - unavailable. Same for Bestie. So
I called Nicole http://www.momsnewstage.com/2011/10/unthinkable.html.
She talked me down, and told me about some drunk who had slept it off in
a mutual friend’s car, only to try to enter her house! Such was Chicago
these days.

In
typical Hyde Park fashion, at 9:35 the place opened. But by then I
realized that Mr. Nastyperson Smokestench could put lil’ Miss Organic Freshener in a
headlock. This was NOT toddler pee on a mattress. I needed heavy duty,
just shy of toxic, chemicals. Off I went to CVS to buy Lysol and Febreze.

In
the parking lot I doused my car down like a mugger being pepper sprayed.

At
the suggestion of Bestie, whom I eventually talked to, I went to talk the cops. Two of Chicago’s finest
happened to be sitting in their marked SUVS in the parking lot. I felt
silly saying, "Um, someone was in my car last night? They didn't take
anything, but I know they were there, because we don't smoke and my car reeked
of cigarettes. I just thought you should know..."

I
might have sounded like a little white twelve year old, but I did it.

Wasn't
it my right to make the authorities aware of how I - how the car in which I transport my wee babes hither and yon
- had been summarily violated? To shine a light upon the nefarious
inconvenience I had just suffered? To spare others the similar shock of
discovering they’d been the victim of a carsitting?

Indeed
it was.

After
determining that yes, my car might actually have been left unlocked, the
officer who actually gave a crizap informed me that people will go down
the street checking car doors for one that is open. They also told me
that many of the crimes, I think they called it Apple lifting - stealing
laptops, Ipods, Ipads, Iphones etc. - are being perpetrated by kids who look
rather clean cut - wearing skinny jeans, etc., as opposed to the more stereotypical
thuggish look.

He
asked me where I lived said he’d make a note of it and check it out. As if.

Duty
done, I got back into the car only to find Mr. Smokestench still hanging out
with a vengeance. It took several
ferocious hose-downs of the car before I couldn’t SEE him in the passenger
seat.

The
next day, he was finally gone.

Suffering
only a stinky car, we got a free pass on this one. I am now obsessed with locking the car door. And guess who’s now the one indulging
in a key fob free-for-all every time she parks?

Friday, January 13, 2012

Note that this
is not especially good because Riley should be at school by 9 a.m, and it takes
us at least 90 minutes to leave.

Go back to
sleep because still off work. Decide he'll get there whenever.

7:35 a.m.

Get up, get
dressed and go to bathroom.

7:40 a.m.

Emerge from
bathroom to hear J say, "He's soaking wet."

Panic.

Certain that
he removed his jammies, sometime during the night, begin scoldterrogating son.

Replay the
events of last night. Realize that zealous to put on his Spider Man pjs,
Riley dressed himself for bed. We skipped bath. Equally zealous to
have Mommy time, I insisted that Riley have privacy – meaning “I’m outta here”
while he went to the bathroom before bed. His overnight diaper was never
put on.

Confess.

Listen to J
declare, "So, it's not his fault." (subtext, "It is all your
fault, woman.")

Try to
blameshift. Futile. Feel like a moron among morons.

7:45 a.m.

Strip Riley
down. Intend to give him a mere wipe-down until a whiff of his skin is caught. As he smells like he has been brined in urine, plunk him in the
bathtub. Inform him that this is just a rinse.

Curse self and
ancestors for not having bought a waterproof mattress pad, even though night
training has not yet begun.

Begin doing
laundry.

8 a.m.

Get Aria up
and give her her breakfast. Scurry like a deranged butler back and
forth between kitchen and master bathroom. Attempt to remove from tub a boy who is
now lounging like a spa visitor. Insist he has five
more minutes.

8:15 a.m.

Riley dressed
and eating. Aria finishing up. Mom dressed. Have a glimmer of
hope that we might not be pathologically late.

8:25
a.m.

Begin the
final push to leave.

Peform the hairdresser on the run act as chase Aria all over the house to tame her curls
and prevent her from looking like Jimi Hendrix.

Brush both
kids teeth.

Have hopes
dashed once again that Riley will put on his own shoes and coat.

Argue with 19 month old about which coat and shoes she will wear and wonder if when she is
16 she will charge thousands of dollars worth of clothes at Neiman’s and
bankrupt me.

Try to find
own keys, gloves, phone, hat.

Make sure
everyone has everything. Fantasize about staying home, turning on the TV and doing a
laissez-faire parenting experiment.

9:00 am.

Leave house.
Get in car.

9:10
a.m.

Drop off
Riley.

Chat outside
with another mother from Riley's class. Tell the pee-pee story.
When she asks hopefully if he woke up dry, as her son has a few times,
internally beat breast and curse self and ancestors once again.

Discuss
pee-soaked mattress strategy. Resolve to get to CVS to buy Febreze
posthaste!

9:30
a.m.

Scan the CVS
home deodorizer section.

Remember
reading somewhere that Febreze had killed cats.

Have a vision
of poor son asphyxiating, breathing in mother-infused toxic chemicals in his
bed. Decide to scan the Internet for something homemade.

9:35 a.m.

Get back in
car. Install Aria completely in her carseat before realizing that should
go to produce market.

Vacillate
between going all the way to Trader Joe's and staying local. Deem it too
nice a morning to be spent driving and shopping.

Uninstall
daughter and go to produce market.

9:45
a.m.

Go to cashier
to pay for five items.

Realize do not
have wallet!

Restrain self
from throwing self to floor and having a tantrum that would make Supernanny change careers.

Have ah-hah
moment!

Ask cashier if
she can ring in credit card manually because have it memorized. Internet
shopping has paid off! Pat self on back.

Wax
philosophical on how don’t know BFF’s digits, but know credit card
number and expiration date.

10:30 a.m.

Groceries
unpacked, and mattress baking-sodaed go across the street to Butternut to meet
friends and play on an unseasonably warm January day in Chicago.

Monday, January 9, 2012

What is getting easier now that your girls are older? In turn what is getting harder?

Every stage has its own set of reliefs and complications. Now, my 7 year old can be helpful. She goes to school, reads very well and loves to be engaged in some kind of art project. She has the potential to entertain herself and keep her mind active, but as my firstborn, it really has been the two of us against the world for a long time. So she prefers to be a couple of feet from me at all times. It is hard to get her to detach and do all those wonderful things she is capable of. Plus, with female maturity comes a sassiness…all of you with little girls know what I’m talking about.

Stella is 3. Enough said. She is obsessed with band aids, I have to wrestle her to the ground to get her teeth brushed and she has decided she will absolutely NOT eat anything green. She is, however, the little sister and only knows life with a sibling. She is more independent and likes to spend time by herself.

They are each smart, fun and lovely to be with, but together I feel like I live life in five minute increments, one coffee scoop at a time. They love each other, get along at times and fight like sisters.

One thing that changes for all women after giving birth is their feelings about their body. For dancers, whose body was their instrument, and was in tip-top form for years, the changes can be especially traumatic. Have your feelings about your body changed for the better or worse?

I can honestly say I miss my pre-baby body. More so, I miss having the time to take care of myself and being that physical person.

Now for the big question - How much sleep do you get
typically?

You know, it is
interesting you mention that.The
sleep question is HUGE, right?You
know you aren't going to get sleep, but there is no way you can imagine the
reality of it.

I use to go around
asking people, "Since all the mothers of the world are sleep deprived
where in the grand equilibrium of the cosmos does it get made up?" I was obsessed with this question
and asked everyone. Finally, one of
my neighbors gave me a decent answer when he said it doesn't get "made
up" it's "pay back!" We are paying back our mothers and all the generations that came before us.

I didn’t get much
sleep when Hazel was born. I
nursed for a year with both my children so that has its own intrinsic sleep
deprivation mechanism. Hazel
literally got up two to three times a night until she was almost four. The amazing thing was that she stopped
the night Stella came home from the hospital. Almost like she felt our unit was complete and safe under
the same roof and she could finally rest.

The Viking
Princess was always a pretty good sleeper. She slept through the night pretty quick. She is a night owl and I am not. I have a hard time getting her to sleep
at a decent hour.

To answer your
question I get about 6 – 7 hours of sleep now, but it was a long time coming.

One thing I have
learned about myself, now that everybody has a separate schedule with school,
is I need an hour by myself before the rooster crows. Hazel gets up at 6 to get ready for the bus and I…Well you
can figure out the uncivilized time I get up.

Did you always envision
yourself with children? Could you see not having kids being a lifelong
regret or something you'd make peace with?

I have always seen
myself with children, and these are the kids I envisioned. They are the children I was supposed to
have. I look at them like I look
at my feet, they are part of me.
It definitely would have been a huge regret if they didn't exist. It’s Life, you know, and you have to
participate.

What's your best Good-God-why-me mommy story?

Don’t we have those every day?

One that comes to mind is a day we took Hazel to dance class. Stella was just 2 and super unpredictable. That particular day I had left all my personal things (phone, purse) in the car because the all mighty spirits haven’t given me enough arms to accomplish what I need. I tell my kids all the time, “Mama is not an octopus.”

Dance class is scheduled a little later than I would like and Stella is always in that, “I’m tired but I’m going to run around so I don’t fall asleep” mode. I realized soon after Hazel started class that I needed my phone. I picked up wild Stella, went to the parking lot, unlocked my door and put my keys in the driver’s seat…The Viking Princess decided to run away from me in the very busy parking lot. In order to catch her I had to slam the car door shut. A couple of very slow mo seconds later I had her safe in my arms, she’s screaming, I’m doling out the requisite “No No’s” and I hear the CLICK OF DOOM.

Yup. The door locked with all my personal things and keys inside.

I proceeded to spend the next 45 min. of class time begging people to let me use their phones to call my husband, who was supposed to be home from work. I probably made no less than 15 calls hoping he would answer and bring the extra keys out to me. No response. Totally MIA. I then started researching professional help. Finally, with 5 min. left of class I got in touch with a wrecker truck. Lady H got out of class, we waited for the truck and $65.00 later we were on our way home.

As soon as we got into the car my husband texted me and asked if we were on our way home. Clueless.

You are a single parent
now. I was raised by a single mom, and as a mother of two I find the idea
unfathomably admirable. Can you speak a little about ending a marriage
and parenting solo?

Yes, sadly, I am
currently going through a divorce.
I, of course, didn’t envision life this way, but you know what, I have
really always been a single mom.
So as far as taking care of the kids, it is a lot easier now that there
isn’t a giant negative cloud over us . The difference is I have to stand on my own feet
financially again. The biggest
challenge is finding the right job. Something that allows me to be there for my
girls and navigate around their schedules and creating a strong infrastructure
to make sure the girls are well taken care of. Plus a job that brings in the necessary salary to support a
family. Hence the mad search.
There is still a lot to figure out, and it is scary at times, but we all
see the proverbial light.

This is a
renaissance for me and I am confident that I will be able to reenter the dance
world and weave arts journalism into my career path.

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Jennifer (Scully) McLester graduated from the
Univ. of N.C. at Greensboro in 1995 with a B.A. in Dance and Anthropology. Upon graduation she moved to NYC, where
she taught and performed professionally for the next 6 years. Jennifer later continued her studies at Western Kentucky University, receiving a masters degree in Physical Education with a concentration in Exercise Science.

Her extensive performance history includes work with the
Gamble/Van Dyke Dance Co., North/South Dance, and the High Point Ballet.

While
in New York City she worked with The New Dance Collective (1996), The Straight
Jacket Dance Company (1997-1998), Donna Goffredo and Dancers (1998-2000). She was in the off-Broadway production of
The Changeling (1996) directed by Robert Woodruff. Jennifer worked with Sharon Fogarty Dance Theater, also off
Broadway, in two original works Feminine Monsters Throughout History (1998) and Heaven (1999). She has danced around the country with
choreographer Michael Foley (1998-2000), and sang in little clubs with the
Dinosaur Sisters (1998-2000).
Jennifer spent her last 2 years in NYC working with Randy Weiner & the
Tony nominated Diane Paulus, in the off Broadway production, The
Donkey Show. This took her to London and Toronto.

Her teaching credits include: High Point Ballet (NC), Lecon
de la Danse (NC) (1997), N.C. Governor's School East, Ballet Academy East
(NYC), Hoboken YMCA (NJ), and the American College Dance Festival at Bates
College Maine (1999). Jennifer was
a guest artist at Western Kentucky University (2002) and continued on to
choreograph and teach part time. She has taught and created work at Pebblebrook Magnet High School for the Performing
Arts and has just completed a full-time contract at Kennesaw State
University. Most recently,
Jennifer’s career has piqué turned into the ranks of Dance Journalism. Her column Dancer With An Attitude can be enjoyed online in an
Atlanta based entertainment magazine The Backstage Beat, and was honored to receive the
2011 Dance Critic Association’s Gary Parks emerging writer award.

How many children do you
have? How old are they?

I have 2 amazing
red headed girls with big personalities.
They are Hazel (Lady H.) who is almost 7 and Stella (the Viking
Princess) who just turned 3.

In what stage of your
career were you when you had your children?

My life went into
hyper drive when I left NYC and taught as a guest artist at Western Kentucky
University. I met my husband (ex
now), got married and had Hazel within a 3 year period. After my one year position, I stayed on
as adjunct faculty in order to teach and continue making work for the main
stage.

While pregnant with Hazel I
also made the push to further my credentials and get my Masters in Physical
Education with a concentration in Exercise Science. It truly was a roller coaster and had a life of its
own. Right after Lady H. was born
I followed my husband to Georgia where he signed on as faculty at Kennesaw
State University. I became a mama.

What were your plans for
your artistic life in terms of motherhood? How did your plans square with
reality?

I definitely saw
myself teaching a bit, performing a bit, making work, and staying connected
with the dance world. I planned on
carrying my babies in a Bjorn to the studio. I found motherhood, however, all encompassing and had a hard
time spreading myself out to do everything I wanted/needed to do. I also learned that in order to do this
you need a real support system at home, which I soon realized I didn't
have. So being 100% responsible for
the physical and emotional needs of two pretty spectacular children became a
full time job.

I don't want to
imply that I haven't worked. I
have, but I call it guerrilla working.
Squeezing in classes wherever I can, begging neighbors and friends to watch
the girls for a couple of hours. I
spent a year teachingin KSU's dance program and at Pebblebrook magnet High School for the
Arts. I've been teaching Caregiver
and Me dance and gymnastics and coordinating dance birthday parties at the local
recreation center.

But being the
full time dance goddess and choreographer I want to be when I grow up has been
put on hold.

Now that the girls
are a bit older I was able to teach full time in the Human Health and
Performance Studies department at KSU last semester, but unfortunately with
meager budgets, they weren't able to keep me on. Soooooo, to make a long story longer, I am currently
embarking on a serious job hunt.

How did you transition
to dance writing? Is writing your career now? If any, what role did motherhood
have in this transition?

Motherhood has
played a huge role in everything.
I had, regrettably, disconnected from the professional dance world when
I started having children. I
really lost myself in the second to second realities of being a full-timemom. I love these kids and they are
everything to me, but suburban housewife is not a role I ever felt comfortable
with.

The transition
into writing was a beautiful and unexpected turn of events. My good friends Ange and Rob Alex
started this Atlanta based entertainment magazine, The Backstage Beat (atlanta.thebackstagebeat.com). It had been around about a year before
I joined them.

Every year for
Hazel's birthday I try to take her to see something. It is usually a circus of some sort. Last year, I literally spent a fortune
on four tickets to Ringling Brothers.
Well it was a coincidence that STOMP was also in town. My children have grown
up on this show. I really wanted
to take her. So, one day, Ange and I were just chatting and I mentioned that
she needed a real dancer on staff, because there were so many incredible modern
choreographers coming through town and no one was covering them. Ange set up some press tickets for STOMP,
Hazel got to see the show and I magically felt like myself again. I found my voice writing about
something I have always been in love with. Dancer With An Attitude was born and
my rebirth began as well.

Interestingly, right after my
separation, I received the Dance Critics Assotiation’s Gary Parks emerging
writer award and got to hang out with some of the greats in Seattle. I took it as a sign that I was on the
right track.

Aside from the actual
writing, seeing all those performances with little ones must be challenging. How
do you make this work?

It is a mixed bag
for us. I feel like there are things I cannot give my children --we don't live with silver spoons in our mouths -- I would love to put them in private schools and to travel the world. I can and will, however, give them art and
culture. So I take them to
as much as I can. We like to go to
as many kid-friendly events as we can squeeze into our schedule. If I take Lady H. and the Viking
Princess, I like to have another adult or older child with us. You know, for bathroom breaks, meltdowns
and the occasional snuggle.
Sometimes it's just Hazel and I.

I have a really wonderful network of helpful neighbors
and friends. My father also lives
nearby and he loves to come and have tea with the girls. If I don't know what I am getting into,
or the show is for a more mature audience, it is very rare that I have to hire
a babysitter.

Your girls obviously see
dance performances, and are dance students themselves. As one who has
worn many hats in the dance world, what do you hope to see in your girls' dance
education?

Hazel is currently
my trained dancer and she definitely has a natural understanding of
center and how to connect all the body parts together. I love seeing her figure it out on her
own and how she applies it to her formal dance classes. Stella has just turned three. She is now old enough to take
class. Poor thing has been
watching her sister take class since birth and can't wait to be in one. I have a feeling she might have the
potential for modern dance greatness. A Gwen Welliver seedling.

There are dancers who
would all but physically bar their children from the studio. Do you want your girls to
dance professionally?

I want them to
dance. I feel dancers are unique,
and learn important life lessons through their training. I will never push it on them as a
career. However, if they start
something like a class or performance group (Hazel is currently in a Rising
Stars performance group) it is important that they fulfill their obligation.

So far we haven't
had any problems with wanting to quit or any wrestling matches to get them into the studio. I do have to wrestle Stella out of the dance space.

As of this
writing, Lady H. wants to be a scientist and the Viking Princess wants to be
Batman.

That is just fine with me.

What is your advice for
single mothers in the arts?

You know, being a
mom is not easy - being a single mom can be scary and being an artist is
something you have to invest your whole self in. So to be successful you have to invest 300% into your life. All
mommies tend to make themselves a last priority. Often, at the end of the day, I realize all I’ve done is run
up and down steps, climbed out of a mountain of laundry and tended to the
girls. I haven’t eaten properly,
hydrated, exercised or had a moment to clear my mind. I don’t know if I have any advice… but I do know it is
imperative to take care of yourself.
Make sure you have the support system you need and put Big Mama on that must- take-care-of list!